A Remedy for Grief
by gin and ironic
Summary: A string of murders in Texas leads to an impasse for Hotch, and some cases are impossible to crack alone. Preslash, set in the not too distant future.


Title: A Remedy for Grief  
Author: Gin  
Rating: R  
Summary: A string of murders in Texas leads to an impasse for Hotch; some cases are impossible to crack alone.  
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters used herein and make no profit from said usage.  
Notes: This is set in the not-too distant future, and will contain slash.  
Thanks to: The divine N. for all of her help, and for J. to being there, as ever.

If you hate a person, you hate something in him that is a part of yourself. What isn't part of ourselves doesn't disturb us.  
- Herman Hesse

Chapter One

_Houston, Texas. July, 2009._

There were exactly thirty profilers out of some thirty thousand FBI agents in the states. At any given moment, they were at Quantico, their local field office, or out on assignment. Quite a few agents retired to lecture trainees at the academy, and some -- like superagents John Douglas and his mentor Robert Ressler -- cranked out sensational books and made headlines for their uncanny instincts in high-profile cases. Unfortunately, the actual day to day grind of working for the BAU wasn't as appealing as The Silence of the Lambs and Patricia Cornwell novels made it out to be.

You can hate your job and still do it, Gideon once said. It was practically a prerequisite. Profilers didn't have the luxury of fifty other agents standing in line behind them, vying for the same position. It was a horrible job with horrible hours and a horrible reputation within the Bureau itself.

He really should retire. Most guys assigned to the BAU were burned out by the time they were forty, and he'd passed that unfortunate milestone nearly ten years ago. If he was smart, he'd cash in and take a long sabbatical on some deserted island in the Bahamas. Hell, at the very least he could cool his heels and get a transfer to organized crime, counterterrorism, something a little less on the up close and personal level.

Who was he kidding? The BAU was as close to a stable home as he'd ever get within the FBI, and he was damn good at his job. Only a few more years and he was out, complete with respectable retirement benefits and the knowledge that he didn't give up and bury his head in the sand.

With a sigh, Aaron Hotchner flipped open the police report on his lap. He and Julie had already gone over it until the corners were dog-eared, and notes in his squiggly handwriting lined the margins. The forewarning 'TREAT AS ORIGINAL' stamped across each page ceased to concern him on the third day when there was no other paper handy.

He was rereading page twenty-two and sipping from his tepid coffee when Julie took a particularly sharp turn. The coffee slopped over the edge of the cup and splattered his shirt and tie, as well as the lower right hand corner of the report's pages.

"Sorry, boss." Judging from the practiced wink she gave him, Julie McMillan was well acquainted with charming her way out of screw-ups.

"I thought they didn't let you into the Bureau if you had a suspended license?" he teased, face impassive.

"You know I drive a sportscar, boss. I'm not used to these massive SUVs."

"Yeah, well, the office is up here on the right, and you need to stop calling me boss."

Obligingly, Julie turned on the blinker and got into the right lane. "Sure thing, Hotch."

He shook his head at her cheeky smile, framed by dark sunglasses and brown hair, and reached into the glove compartment for some napkins.

"On the right, right?"

"Yeah, I think so." Usually all government and federal buildings were sore thumbs in a city landscape, but in the case of Houston, they were art deco-style additions to a strange mix of bayous, tall buildings, and a looping jumble of freeway.

"Been here before?" she asked in her usual nonchalant manner, trying to navigate a parking spot along the curb.

"Once or twice."

She managed to squeeze the hulking SUV into a parking spot and switched off the ignition. "Well then, you'll be right at home, won't you?"

--

"Aaron Hotchner, and this is Special Agent Julie McMillan, she's come to us from Chicago." Graduated in 06 from the University of Chicago with a double-major in Sociology and Criminology, not the top of her class but close enough for comfort.

"Good to see you again, Agent Hotchner." The Houston go-to man for out of state agents was Robert Meyer. Last time Aaron saw him -- spring of 07, wasn't it? -- he was leaning to fat and had blotchy red cheeks that at the time suggested joviality, but now indicated drive to drink or heart problems. Both sleeves were rolled up around his elbows, and the undersides of his arms were fish-belly white. His accent was a whisper of what Aaron would expect from a Texan, almost undetectable. Competent enough last time, if a bit underfoot. "Although the circumstances are unfortunate."

Aaron nodded in agreement. Julie was already unpacking their assorted gear, two laptops and tape recorders and a few well-used notebooks. The police report was tossed on top of the rectangular conference table they were given to use as a base of operations. "Do you have a whiteboard or something similar we can use?"

"I'm having all of that brought to this conference room, Agent Hotchner, just as soon as someone's free."

"You can call me Aaron," he replied, "and thank you."

Meyer's eyebrows rose at the permission Aaron gave him. Last time he hadn't been quite so accommodating, but he'd been heading up a team of five, not two. He didn't have quite the position of authority this time. "It's not a problem."

Julie, in her politely bullheaded way, immediately started grilling Meyers for information. "Do you have additional crime scene or autopsy photos that weren't included in the police report?"

Meyers snorted. Aaron shook his head inwardly; Julie was still fresh to the FBI, and in her fervor, considered anyone not BAU somehow inadequate. He'd seen a few agents go through the same thing; she'd get over it soon enough.

"Of course, ma'am. It was all very thorough. We'll have all supplementary information brought down later today as well."

Julie just nodded; she was already back to her notes, furtively scribbling down whatever questions she had planned during the briefing. Meyers gave them both a wane smile.

"About time to get started, yeah?"

--

Several plasma screens were mounted along the wall, forming a panorama of horror. Images clicked by; a closeup of a little girl's hand, fingers gently furled as if she were at rest. A wider shot of her head; the gunshot wound. A zoomed photo of the wound, this time framed with a ruler for reference. Shotgun. Not close range. Inefficient, in terms of noise and camouflage. She was obviously moved and then posed, tucked on her side in an almost fetal position. Congealed blood glued her hair to the cement.

The first victim. Amy, Aaron recalled from the report. Her name was Amy.

"What have you got for us, agents?"

It was Julie who answered. "Not a lot at this stage, I'm afraid. We'll need to do some exhaustive reviews of any new evidence, as well as walk the crime scene. I'm going to set up a feed to Quantico and start cross-referencing similar MOs, see if we can't establish some victims out of the state--"

"There's been one more child killed in Louisiana. The circumstances were similar, but not quite, which is why it isn't in the report."

"Hnn." Her mouth turned down. Aaron was equally amused and irritated with her attitude towards the agents. She made no effort to disguise that she thought they were useless good ol' boys. "Can we--"

"Copy of the report has been cleared for you. You should get it with the rest of the stuff."

"Thanks. That'll be all for now, but we'll call you in once we get something a little more solid."

Meyers and his posse took this as their cue to leave. Aaron and Julie were left alone with the plasma screens and Amy. He swiveled his chair and got down to business. "No signs of sexual trauma."

"But what she's wearing… it's a nice dress." It was, if you noticed that sort of thing. Pink and frilly with an underskirt. "Not something you'd see little girls wearing every day. The unsub could have dressed her in it as part of his fantasy, which rings of pedophilia."

He flipped open the file and looked down. "She was reported missing Sunday evening and found Monday afternoon."

They met each other's eyes and Julie shrugged. "Church, then. Maybe. It could have been her church dress."

"We should hold off on evaluating the sex aspects until we get a look at the file from that other kid." But, Aaron acknowledged, it was looking like the unsub targeted children to fulfill a fantasy -- the posing and the peaceful locations of the dump sites -- and odds were it was a sexual one.

A knock at the door. One of Meyer's agents, and damnit but Aaron should know his name, poked his head inside the door. "Hey, uh, Robert told me to tell you that they'll be a delay with the rest of the materials, something about misfiled paperwork."

"Thanks." The agent nodded and closed the door behind him.

Julie sighed heavily, folding her arms on the table. "This is useless. We can't get anything started with incomplete evidence and reports."

"You're right." How she loved hearing that, no matter the circumstances. Aaron started to pack up his things. "Enough for today."

Julie wrestled the crime scene reports into a leather bag that was a little on the small side. "Hey, I've heard Houston has great restaurants. I've never been here, d'you want to try it out?"

"No, I think I'm going to go back to the hotel and sleep. I'm worn out from the flight."

She flashed a rueful smile and stood up almost the same moment he did. "Oh, come on. We could get a drink with an umbrella in it. It'd be like a vacation."

"What's vacation?" She laughed at his joke. "I'll see you in the morning."


End file.
